


How Stiles Met Derek... With Cats

by late_night



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Alternate Universe - Human, Fluff, M/M, Peter is an asshole, Scott and Peter are Cats
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-17
Updated: 2015-09-17
Packaged: 2018-04-21 04:46:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4815590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/late_night/pseuds/late_night
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A rather drunk Stiles breaks into Derek's house in the middle of the night, thinking it's his friends.</p><p>Logically, Derek knows he should call the cops. </p><p>Instead he gets himself a date and still has a broken window.</p><p>OR the "You broke into my house thinking it was your friend's and I should call the cops but my cat likes you so we're cool" AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	How Stiles Met Derek... With Cats

**Author's Note:**

> So first work with Teen Wolf. Welp I tried guys.
> 
> Just as a note Derek and Malia are not related in this at all as Peter Hale is a cat. Don't worry he's still an asshole.
> 
> And Stiles is early 20s, Derek is around 25 or so.
> 
> Enjoy!

It had started off as an innocent, quiet night.

Derek was curling up on his usual chair, adjacent from the couch yet still within view of the TV he had, yet rarely used. The most he really used it was when he had guests over, and that was few and far in between.

Mostly the couch remained occupied by his asshole of a cat, Peter. Peter had first come about from Laura. His absolutely _wonderful_ big sister who knew how much he hated cats. From what he understood Laura had found him a little bit away from a burning building on one of her shifts as an EMT. She scooped him up and brought him to the local vet, and still had a lovely collection of scars on her forearms from him.

At first Laura was going to be the one to keep him, but her landlord wouldn’t let her have pets and it just wasn’t in Laura to leave him at the pound with scars all over him and most his fur burned off. While it was a sad thought she had acknowledged that with that look his chances of getting adopted were slim to none.

So she did the next thing she could think of: beg her house-owning brother to take in this asshole of a cat she found. He didn’t really know what possessed him to take in the little four-legged beast that probably should have been named Lucifer rather than Peter, but he did.

When Derek looked back on it he realized there was a very real chance that he said yes just to stop Laura from begging, or doing something rash like letting the cat stay with her, completely risking her iron-fisted landlord from finding out about the cat.

Peter himself was lucky that Laura had already named him when she handed him over to Derek, or he would’ve just ended up being named ‘Cat.’

And that’s how Derek wound up with this complete ass of a cat who ran his house and tore his shit up and was the reason why Derek could never have company over, least Peter go hissing and scratching at them. And if Derek tried to lock him upstairs for longer than ten minutes, he would howl and howl. Loudly. Like he was trying to summon help. Or maybe communicate with the neighbor’s cat, Scott.

Scott wasn’t even full grown and Peter was already trying to control him. Derek wasn’t even sure cats could do that.

Not for lack of trying on Peter’s part.

But yes, it started on a quiet night, Derek was sitting in his Peter-torn-up arm chair, reading a book, one of the few things of his that Peter left alone really, and silently letting the night settle in before heading to bed at a decent time cos he did have to work tomorrow and he hoped to get some sleep before Peter started his nightly terror run.

Derek didn’t know exactly how long he had been asleep when he was awaken by the sounds of something crashing downstairs.

There really wasn’t much that Derek could do at that moment other than drag himself out of bed to go see the collateral damage of whatever it was Peter had gotten into now.

What he expected to find was Peter on top of the couch looking smug in that cat way he had as Derek found yet another broken something or other on the ground of the living room floor.

What he found was a broken window and a rather human college student in his living room, sitting on Peter’s couch, _giggling._

_At his cat._

Derek almost fainted when he saw that.

“Hello Scoot,” the kid said before laughing hysterically. _“Scoot.”_ He then looked up and around the house, not noticing Derek before shouting, “Malia! Come meet Scoot!”

Malia, his neighbor’s daughter. The owner of Scott, Peter’s sort-of protege. This kid must think that he’d broken into the correct house, not that breaking in anywhere was ok, but it’d explain why he was here.

On closer inspection Derek realized that he had in fact seen him before, coming and going from said neighbor’s house.

Either way he was definitely drunk, Derek could smell the distinct stench of alcohol from his place in the doorway and if he couldn’t the kid’s behavior and just general look was a dead giveaway. With little else he could do, Derek reached for his cell phone, which was still in his sweat pants pocket where he’d fallen asleep with it, to dial the police cos really he had just broken into his property illegally and he knew for a fact that Malia’s parents were out of town. Nor was Malia herself home, likely had gotten separated from this skinny kid that had taken over his couch during the night sometime. Halfway through dialing the actual number, non emergency number cos a drunk kid on his couch was not really a 911 level of emergency, and Derek was sure he could take a skinny drunk kid if he tried anything, he heard a very soft sound.

A very distinct soft sound. Coming from his cat. A cat that only knew how to communicate through hissing and shrill, loud meows that half the neighborhood could hear.

A honest to fucking god purr.

Peter was actually fucking purring.

Derek had had Peter for almost a year and a half and never once had Derek so much as let out a soft meow.

Now this random, drunk kid breaks into his house, parks himself right on Peter’s couch in Peter’s living room (because Derek wasn’t delusional about who let who live in the house), and decides that he would make friends with the evilest cat to have ever been birthed.

This guy could possibly be an actual cat whisperer.

Derek heard a thunk of something falling to the ground, immediately thinking that Peter, or hell even the kid, had dropped something. Only to realize that he himself had dropped him phone on the ground.

Derek was expecting to be woken up at any minute now for real, cos really this had to be a dream, Peter hated the world and everything in it including the people. Especially the people.

The purring continued as the kid made himself right at home on the couch, grabbing one of the torn up throw pillows and resting his head on it. Peter crawled up to his chest and wrapped himself in a ball, closing his eyes and keeping up the consistent purring.

Derek was completely floored.

Then the kid brought his arms around Peter, and Peter fucking let him, and hugged the cat. An actual hug.

“Night Scoot.”

Derek didn’t really know what to do at that point. He should call the police. He should definitely not let a complete stranger sleep on his couch with his evil cat. He should definitely not turn around and go back to his bed, leaving said stranger alone in his house.

But for some reason Derek still couldn’t really explain, that is exactly what he did.

When he woke up, with sunlight in his eyes and a large wolf-like yawn, he reasonably thought that the entire events of last night had been some weird dream he had.

Course that line of thought only lasted until he got downstairs and saw Peter still curled up with the kid. His window was still busted, the rock used to do it was still on the floor of his living room, glass shards scattering around the affected area. He checked to make sure the kid was wearing shoes, cos honestly glass shards in foot was definitely going to warrant a trip to the ER and the kid wouldn’t be the first person Derek knew who decided that shoes were a stupid concept when they were shit-faced drunk in some club or bar or wherever the fuck this kid was last night.

With no cuts on his shoed feet, Derek silently padded into the kitchen to start up the coffee maker, lord knows that kid would need it, when he heard some shifting coming from the living room. Followed by a long pain-filled moan.

Derek tried to resist chuckling because really, this was all self-inflicted.

“Where the hell?” he asked no one in particular and Derek couldn’t help but grin a little.

“You’re not Scott,” the kid continued, presumably seeing Peter for the first time. He was met with a meow from Peter.

Derek walked out to the living room to find the kid sitting up on the couch, Peter in his lap, looking at him expectantly. For what, Derek didn’t know but Peter definitely wanted something. It certainly wasn’t food, Derek had fed him already and Peter fuckin knows it, but Derek would be hard pressed to say he wanted to be pet. Which is exactly what Peter wanted.

Derek would never get used to the sight of Peter wanting to get pet. It just didn’t happen. Like winning the lottery. Sure it was great to those who got to but it just didn’t happen.

Apparently Stiles had won the lottery. Just instead of winning money he won the affecting of the devil incarnate.

Derek let out a little “Ahem” noise from his spot, prompting the kid to look up from Peter, who predictably hissed at him.

“And you're certainly not Malia,” the kid said hazily when he saw to him. “Also that wasn’t very nice, kitty.”

“He does that all the time,” Derek said with a shrug. “Peter.”

“Huh?”

“His name? It’s Peter.”

“Oh cool,” he said, looking at the dark tabby. “It fits, somehow.”

“Yea I suppose,” Derek mused. “My sister, Laura, was the one that named him.” He looked over the guy on the sofa, wearing a dark hoodie and red fucking skinny jeans. Closer look in the day, Derek couldn’t help but wonder how he ended up at his house instead of someone else’s bed.

But seriously, how did he pull of red skinny jeans? Derek was sure no one over the age of 15 could pull those off correctly.

It occurred to Derek that he should probably tell this stranger that was resided on his couch his name.

“Derek Hale.” Way to be smooth there, Derek.

“Stiles,” was the answer he received.

“What the hell is a Stiles?” were the words that came out of Derek’s mouth before he could stop them. He kinda wanted to slap his forehead for it. He was really racking up those cool points, wasn’t he?

Somewhere in these trains of thoughts it occurred to him that maybe he shouldn't be hitting on the guy that broke into his house shit faced in the middle of the night.

“I’m a Stiles,” Stiles said indignantly. He then took another survey of the room. And saw the window. And gapped a bit. “Did I do that?”

“Yes.”

“Uhh wow,” Stiles stuttered. “I’ll totally pay for that. Somehow. I don’t exactly know how but I’ll pay for it. Maybe just avoid telling my dad? That’d be fantastic really. He doesn't need to know. Nor does the police. Well I guess that’s the same thing cos he kinda is the police. Speaking of which why didn’t you call the police? I pretty clearly broke into your house, destroyed your property and slept on your couch.”

God. Lord. This guy, Stiles, could talk. He started and just didn’t stop.

“The cat likes you.”

“What?”

“Peter,” Derek elaborated. “He likes you.”

“And that magically makes it ok?!”

“No you don’t understand,” Derek said. “Peter hates everyone. Literally everyone. I can’t have people over because of him. Except you, for some weird reason he likes you.”

“Oh,” Stiles said. A comfy silence befell on them.

“Want some coffee?”

“Oh god yes,” Stiles moaned out. “And some aspirin would be great. A lot of aspirin.”

Derek grinned. “I’ll see what I can do.”

It was then that Stiles’ phone rang. Loudly. And Obnoxiously.

It was also then that Stiles let out a quiet groan of pain and let his head fall to his lap.

Derek knew very well what it was. Hangovers were a bitch no matter who you were. His own friends had dragged (although he was certain they’d argue that they did not “drag” him anywhere, he was merely making sure they got home alright and having some fun in the process) him out enough to know the pain of a hangover.

Stiles looked at his phone and frowned.

“Hi Mal-”

“Where are you?” a loud growl came out, interrupting Stiles’ greeting.

“Uhhh,” Stiles started. “At your neighbor’s. Nice guy, kinda scowly though.”

Derek frowned at him, which only proved to further Stiles’ point.

“Derek _Hale?_ ” she asked. “What are you doing over there?”

It was understandably confusing. Derek didn’t really talk to his neighbors much, he certainly didn’t talk to their daughter, so to question why he was there was a good first step.

“Currently, petting his cat.”

“The one that terrorizes Scott?” she pressed. Derek at least had the dignity to look sheepish at that. Or as close to sheepish as he could pull.

“That’s the one.”

“That cat hates everything.”

Stiles chuckled. “I've heard.”

“Well have fun I guess,” Malia said, still sounding a bit confused. “How did you end up there anyways?”

“I broke into the house thinking it was yours… Malia?” he looked at his phone. “She hung up on me.”

Derek’s eyebrows went straight up his forehead.

The two then found themselves at Derek’s table, munching on eggs after Stiles got his much needed coffee-and-aspirin.

Peter had yet to leave Stiles’ side, continually rubbing his face against his legs and in general not acting like himself.

Derek was tempted to bring him to the vet on principle. As a worried pet owner he knew his cat was not acting in any way like his cat. His cat was an asshole who tears up his owner’s shit and then looks smug about it. His cat hisses at everything that breathes air, with the exception of maybe plants.

Peter did not curl up on people’s laps and decide to sleep there for the night, not leaving a single scratch on them. Sure Derek didn’t want Peter to scratch Stiles but still, it wasn’t normal. It was Twilight Zone level stuff.

“You ok dude?”

“Don’t call me dude,” Derek said automatically. Erica called him that enough for one lifetime, Stiles did not need to feed off it. “But yes, I’m fine. Just, Peter.”

Stiles looked at Peter. “Guess it’s a bit weird seeing him, from what I’ve heard from you and Malia.”

“Just a bit.”

The filled the silence with idle chatter until Stiles declared that he should probably find his way to Malia’s, least she come banging on the door looking for him when she gets there.

“So,” Stiles dragged out, licking his lips and glancing around the room as he faced Derek at the door. “Doyouwannagooutsometimewithme?”

The words flew out so fast Derek almost missed them. “Yes,” he found himself saying. “Definitely yes.”

Stiles grinned and reached into his pocket. A pen. Derek found that he wasn’t even surprised that Stiles would have a pen in his pocket. He also wasn’t surprised that Stiles would just grab his hand and scribble down his number on that.

“So call me later yea,” Stiles grinned. “I’ll be expecting it!”

With that he turned and fled from the house, practically sprinting to the neighbors yard, clearing the fence rather easily.

This of course left Derek standing there, mulling over exactly what happened. Somehow a drunk stranger invaded his house last night and Derek somehow managed to come out with a date.

When he later called Laura to tell her what happened the instant he said he had a date with him the first words out of her mouth were, “Marry him.”

“Little fast for that Laura, don’t you think?”

“You cat likes him Derek. Your cat. The same cat that hates everything and tries to control the neighbor’s cat. Marry him Derek you will never find another like that in your life.”

She meant it jokingly but Derek would be lying if he said he didn’t consider it for a hot minute.

And years later, on their wedding day, Laura laughed when he brought it up. She also laughed at Peter’s “I told you so” look when they had her over for dinner to announce their engagement.

And when they went home that same night of the wedding, Peter was in his usual spot on the couch, the window long since been fixed, looking too smug for his own good. Even with the overly-smug look on his face, like he knew what was going on, Derek had to admit he wouldn’t have Stiles without the furry beast.

For that, he salutes him.


End file.
